[Voice]
[The river is muted in the background, a bit more distant than the creak of leather. Her voice is somewhat slurred and rough, as if just waking. It's also deeply offended.] 'S all this then? Bloody twigs in my hair. Ain't midsummer's...
[There follows a silence, and when it is broken again, her voice is hard and loud. Hotly annoyed. Though she's yelling, there's a directionless quality to it, and it's (mercifully) not into the communicator.]
Trees of my ancestors, whatever lout is behind this'll taste the soles of my boots. Getting blasted tired of waking up off on holiday when I ain't packed and I'm not inclined to visit. Well? Speak up, eh? Come out here and face me, you lily-livered sneakthief!
[There follows a silence, and when it is broken again, her voice is hard and loud. Hotly annoyed. Though she's yelling, there's a directionless quality to it, and it's (mercifully) not into the communicator.]
Trees of my ancestors, whatever lout is behind this'll taste the soles of my boots. Getting blasted tired of waking up off on holiday when I ain't packed and I'm not inclined to visit. Well? Speak up, eh? Come out here and face me, you lily-livered sneakthief!